Pretending
by CaliforniaDreamer
Summary: One-shot. Lindsay tried to pretend that he loved her, that they were happy. But everyone has their breaking points. She just can't be the unsuspecting housewife anymore. Not for Dean lovers.


**Disclaimer: If I owned the show, then the R/D mess wouldn't have happened. Of course, then I wouldn't be writing this...**

**AN: This story came to me while I was listening to Me and the Moon by Something Corporate. This is a milder version of that, however, lol. But I got the idea, and then it just wouldn't leave me alone...so I wrote it. It may be a bit overdone, but here it is. Warning: Definitly NOT for Dean lovers. In Lindsay's POV, R&R timeline.**

**Pretending**

I was happy at first. I really, honestly was.

I'm not so sure about him. He acted happy. At our wedding reception, he smiled at me widely as we danced and told me he loved me. He kissed me and told me he'd never been happier.

I think I believed him. I'm such a damn fool.

I knew I was never first for him. It was always her, Rory. And I was okay with that, him loving her. Because, somewhere inside of him, he had to love me too, maybe even more than he loved her. He wouldn't have asked me to marry him otherwise, right? He couldn't possibly marry someone he doesn't love; he's not that cruel. He wouldn't just lead me on like that, not Dean.

When we started dating, I remember my friends telling me to be careful, that I might just be a rebound. I blew them off, refused to listen. I knew he'd been in a serious relationship, but it didn't matter. I started falling for him our first date. I thought I could make him fall for me, too. And when he proposed, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd succeeded.

I had been prepared for a break up that night. He was nervous, all through dinner he kept zoning out, he barely ate. And when he got down on one knee, I was so completely shocked. We're talking heart attack inducing shock. But somehow, I managed to say yes. I don't even remember saying yes, but obviously, I did.

I wouldn't have ever considered getting married at eighteen before. I mean, it's so young. But I was in love with Dean, and I fell for him so quickly, I just thought...I don't know what I thought. Maybe I thought he could finally really, truly be mine. Sure, we were dating, but it didn't stop him from hanging around Rory. I thought if we were married, that would all change. I'd be his wife; he'd only have eyes for me. That's how I saw it with my parents. But maybe that's just a lie too. Maybe my mom does the housework to keep herself busy, to not think about a husband who's too busy to come home other than for meals. It would be so much easier if all marriages were that way. But they aren't, they can't be. There has to be a couple out there that genuinely loves each other.

That's what I'm doing right now, housework. The freaking _dishes_. My husband's cheating on me, and I'm washing the dishes. This is all such a lie, marriage. Or maybe it's just mine. Things are so screwed up. I just wanted him to love me.

Sure, I don't know for sure he's cheating on me. But Rory Gilmore just called, I saw the caller id. And then I just...I felt it. He slept with her. It's a gut feeling. This sinking pit in the bottom of my stomach that just keeps getting deeper.

I told him not to talk to her, not to see her. She shouldn't be calling him! I tried to prevent this. Am I that despicable, that he has to sleep with his ex-girlfriend? Why am I not enough?

I never was. He never wanted me. He always wanted her, at that hockey game, that stupid party, hell; he was probably imagining it was her he was dancing with at our wedding!

I was fine with pretending, as long as Rory didn't want him. It was fine in high school; she had that boyfriend, Jess or something. She looked like she loved him that time I saw them together. But then he left, and everything got screwed over. What, was she lonely? There are so many guys out there, why did she have to go after _my_ husband?

Because he loves her.

For a one shallow moment, I wonder what my friends will think. Divorced at nineteen. Getting cheated on. Not wanted.

None of that matters. I'm just...I'm miserable. I miss the Dean I started dating. The one I loved. Damnit, I want to be able to pretend he loves me.

I can't anymore. No more pretending. I've been hurt enough.

I look at the dish I'd been washing for the past fifteen minutes, idly. Suddenly, I let it drop from my hands, shattering across the stainless steel of the sink.

Broken.

Like my marriage. My sense of love. My damn life!

I run from the kitchen, into my (our, I forget that sometimes, he's never there) bedroom. I tear through the dressers and start pulling out his clothes, throwing them on the floor. I pull out a couple of suitcases and start moving the clothes into them. I search frantically around the room, trying to find the things that are solely his, sweeping them into the suitcases.

In the background, I hear the front door opening, him calling my name. I never want to hear him say my name again. His voice is disgusting in my ears. He _cheated_. He doesn't get to pretend anymore. I know I'm not.

I ignore him calling my name (I cringe every time, wondering how he says her name, wondering how long that obligatory tone he has speaking to me has been there.) as he comes down the hall.

He's seen me now, is staring at me open mouthed.

"What the hell are you doing, Lindsay?"

"Packing," I say simply, though I could have sworn my voice was trembling. From anger, fear of being alone, I don't know.

He just stared, as if he couldn't believe I would have the nerve to do this. I have never felt so angry in my entire life, never been so disgusted with anyone. He slept with another woman! I have every freaking right to do this!

I look up as calmly as I can, despite tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

"How's Rory?"

"Wh...what?"

"She any better than me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Sex," I say, matter-of-factly. "Is she any better? Cause I'd hate for you to go through all the trouble of sneaking around if she wasn't."

"Lindsay..."

"Shut up, Dean! You don't get to talk!" He's silent. I'm shaking now; I don't know where to go from here. What do you do in this situation?

I just lean down and pick up the suitcases. I try to hand them to him, but he won't take them.

"I want you out of my house. Now."

"Lindsay, don't do this..."

"Me? _Lindsay _don't do this? I didn't cheat, Dean. I didn't start this. You did. You obviously don't want me, so get the hell out of my house!"

"I didn't..."

"Yes, yes you did. She called. I know." He's silent again for a moment. I throw the suitcases at him, they land at his feet. He just stares at me. I can't tell what he's thinking. It scares me a bit. No, it scares me a lot. I've never been this damn scared in my life.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't seem sorry. He says it half-heartedly, and I know. He isn't sorry he cheated, isn't sorry that he mislead me, isn't even sorry he married me. He's sorry he got caught, he's sorry he made a mess. He never did like messes; they got too complicated for him.

It's in this moment that I realize how pathetic he is. He wants everything! He wants Rory. He doesn't really want me, but he wants a pretty little housewife that he can blame for all he's problems. She's too demanding. She nags too much. All her.

Well, I'm tired of playing the damn housewife! It's not all me! It's him! He wanted Rory, he married me. He started this, and he dragged me into it!

I take a quick breath before I can finally stare him in the eyes.

"I hate you," I whisper. In this moment, I think I mean it. I really did love him. It just...it hurts. I hate that he did this to me, I hate that dragged me into this.

I glance around the room, I don't really know why. My eyes land on our (my?) nightstand. Our wedding picture. I'm beaming brilliantly. I had never been so happy. And then I finally notice him. I must have looked at the picture a million times, but I never really saw him. I saw what I wanted to see, I guess. But there it is. A mask of happiness. His smile looks almost...pained.

This is too much. Too much discovery for one night, too much!

I'm not thinking straight anymore, I'm not really sure I'm really thinking. I grab the picture, frame and all, and fling it at him.

I've always had bad aim, and raging anger doesn't help it at all. The picture hits the wall next to him, glass shattering. It ricochets off the wall, and a sharp edge of glass hits him near his shoulder. It causes a cut, a long one, the glass falling down his arm, not leaving the skin until his elbow.

I watch the blood show on his arm. He stares at me in disbelief, but it's okay.

I feel oddly revenged now. He caused me emotional pain; I'll cause him physical pain. Of course, his cut is nowhere as deep as mine. But at least he feels some pain from all of this. He deserves this, this and so much more.

My tears are flowing freely now, yet my voice comes out steady.

"Out of my house. Now."

He stares at me for a moment before picking up the suitcases and leaving the room. I stand still until I hear the front door slam shut.

I glance down at the floor, where the wedding picture lays, fallen out of the frame. It had hit glass, or an edge of the frame when I threw it.

Right down the middle, the picture was split. Me smiling happily on one piece, him masking misery on the other.

I pick up the piece with me on it and place it on the nightstand, where the frame used to sit. Then I go back and pick up his piece.

Calmly, I move into the bathroom, picture in hand. I stare at it one last time, letting a solitary teardrop fall upon it. I crumple it up and throw it into the wastebasket.

I go back into my room and lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I turn over on my side and look at my picture. And then I smile, truly, for the first time since my wedding.

I look at myself, so happy, and he's not even beside me anymore. And then, I know.

I'm gonna be okay.

END.


End file.
